


Baby Mine

by PlaneJane



Category: Eagle of the Ninth Series - Rosemary Sutcliff, The Eagle (2011)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaneJane/pseuds/PlaneJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for the <a href="http://riventhorn.livejournal.com/59772.html">Happy Gay Farmers</a> comment fest for the prompt, <i>Cottia gives birth to their first child, but they don't know whose it will be.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Mine

The pregnancy had been easy. Cottia could have happily carried another month but for the incessant need to pee. At night, she slept on her side with her leg draped over Esca’s thighs, her back cradled into Marcus’s chest. The baby sometimes moved around, pressing a tiny limb under her ribs. He slid about inside her, rarely punching or kicking, and sometimes his little pointed backside poked out on the front of her belly. She’d give it a rub, saying, “There, there, little man.” She was having a boy. She knew it in her heart.

Esca teased her. “What if this baby is a girl?”

“It’s not.”

Marcus added, “Only the gods know that for sure.”

Trust Marcus to take his side.

Cottia flushed, she flushed so easily these days, and she felt like she could cry, for how could the pair of them _know?_ Then she swiped Esca with the broom and tried not to topple over while the pair of them laughed, hugged her and pressed kisses to her face and to her belly, and made her weep - for her heart was more filled with love than her belly was filled with child.

It was a happy time.

Only sometimes, she would see a shadow cross Esca’s face. “The baby is Marcus’s,” he’d say wistfully.

“Why do you say that?” - For truthfully, none of them could know for sure.

“My mother told me, carrying me was like carrying a hare in a sack. She said I’d kick her so hard she’d piss herself,” he smiled, hiding nothing. “This babe, it’s like a slow river. It’s Marcus all over.”

“The first always moves less, my lamb. My belly is still tight.”

“I don’t mind whose it is. I really don’t,” he said and rested his head on her bump. She ran her fingers through his hair and didn’t believe him for a moment.

Marcus was no different. He would creep behind her and wrap his arms about her, his palms spread wide. “I think I feel a miniature Esca in there,” he’d say with fondness.

“And how do you know that?” Cottia said.

Marcus would mumble some nonsense until Cottia stamped on his foot and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, sweet. I haven’t seen my feet since the Beltane fires.”

Esca and Marcus loved each other so very much; it pained Cottia to think this could come between them. But there was no solution. She only hoped that upon seeing their darling child this worrying would disappear. They would have many children if she had her way and they would love them all, equally.

Her waters broke in the far field. She stood upright, took a deep breath and walked all the way to the fence. Marcus looked up with a worried frown and said, “Darling, your dress is soaked. Did you have an accident?”

“No. The baby is coming. Let’s walk back to the house, slowly, all right? We can pick up Esca from the barn on the way.”

Cottia had to bark at the pair of them, flapping around like a couple of headless chickens. It was too late to send for help; when she felt between her legs she was dilated the width of her hand.

Esca had crafted Cottia a birthing stool. She sat with her legs parted, leaning forward against Marcus’s chest, while he knelt in front of her, his eyes wet with tears. The contractions were coming strong and fast and Esca was busy with linen and water, so it was Marcus that had to hold the leather strap in her mouth. Through gritted teeth she cursed all the Briton’s and the Roman’s gods at once, and both Marcus’s and Esca’s pricks and their plentiful seed.

Esca was at their side as Cottia felt a squeezing pain so intense she dug her fingers into Marcus’s arms and screamed hard enough that the leather fell from her mouth.

“I can see the head!” Esca panted, his voice laced with panic and elation.

That was the last Cottia remembered until Marcus lifted her to the bed and placed their baby at her breast. “A boy, Cottia sweet, a boy,” he cried.

Marcus and Esca lay either side of her and the baby, who she would call Blaze for the speed of his arrival. He nuzzled, sleepy and pink and wrinkled, between her blue-veined breasts.

The baby had a thick mop of black hair and he was sleepy and content. He sucked Cottia’s milk a dozen times a day and within a few weeks his belly grew round and his little arms and legs got fat.

The matter of who was the father was never discussed in her presence again. One night, when Blaze was fussing from colic, Cottia took him to the fireside and rocked him in the big wooden chair. With Cottia gone from the middle of the bed, Esca curled in next to Marcus and she watched the two of them in the half darkness, kissing quietly and whispering soft endearments. Perhaps the question of fatherhood wasn’t over. Even so, perhaps it was not a matter for Cottia, but something they would work out between themselves.

Two months later, every one of Blaze’s black hairs fell from his head and a month after that, fine fiery fuzz took its place. His eyes settled into a stormy grey and when he cried his fists balled tight and his legs kicked out in fury.

The air was cooling outside and the nights growing longer. With honey mead and hazelnuts, they cuddled up on furs by the fire, their perfect family: Cottia, Esca, Marcus and Blaze.

“Already, Blaze has a tooth coming through,” Marcus said, rubbing some of his mead over Blaze’s angry gums.

“Don’t I know it?” Cottia laughed. Her abused nipples were testament to the ferocity of his bite.

Esca poked her in the ribs. “He’s his mother’s son, for sure.”

“He’s ours, you silly pair, _all_ of ours. Just as all his brothers and sisters will be.”

And in her heart, she knew it was true.


End file.
